Then he and Cate could spend the rest of their lives together.

He hoped.

As he reached for his coat, his cell began to vibrate.

He pulled it out and checked caller ID. His handler, with the promised status report.

After a quick greeting, the man got straight to business.

“The delivery occurred as scheduled last night, and all the pieces are in place on our end. We have surveillance on the top dealers, and we have two teams on Jones. We’ve also got two teams stationed at the back entrance to the school. The only loose end is the head guy.”

“That’s why we have to pull Jones in fast and see if we can get him to talk. You planning to bring in Hernandez too?”

“Yes. If he’ll identify Jones as his supplier, that gives us more leverage. Like you’ve said, once we have grounds to book him, the threat of prison becomes more real. It’s too bad Hernandez’s brother-in-law can’t make a positive ID.”

“It was dark in the alley, and Jones was bundled up. I’m grateful he managed to get the license plate. Let’s hope we can convince Hernandez to talk.” He pulled his coat off the hanger. “I have to get to school—but I’ll touch base as soon as I leave, see where you want me.”

“If anything comes up before that, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks.” Zeke ended the call and started to put his coat on. Stopped to peer at the upper sleeve, near the underarm seam.

What was that faint, dark blotch on the wool?

His heart stammered as he identified the stain.

It was Cate’s blood. From the night he’d carried her out of the woods after the attack.

Despite the thorough inspection and scrubbing he’d given the coat, he’d missed this spot.

He detoured to the kitchen in search of a cleaning solution that would remove the blemish.

But his step faltered as a sense of foreboding engulfed him.

Could this overlooked stain be an omen?

If he’d missed this, could he also have missed a piece of information that was vital to the case?

Blowing out an annoyed breath, he picked up his pace.

Ridiculous.

Believing in signs was silly and superstitious.

Yet hard as he tried to convince himself such thinking was pure folly, he couldn’t shake the apprehension that paralyzed his lungs while he worked to remove Cate’s blood.

Or stifle the stomach-churning fear that this day was going to turn deadly.

Four o’clock in the afternoon—and her tenure as a student at Ivy Hill was winding down . . . along with her undercover career.

Thank goodness.

Cate closed her trig text for the last time.